


Little Toys

by icedteainthebag



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Dominance, F/M, Handcuffs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 07:05:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12953940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedteainthebag/pseuds/icedteainthebag
Summary: handcuffs dude





	Little Toys

At seven o’clock in the evening on a Thursday it was low-lit and quiet in their house, an unusual circumstance at any hour but especially when both of them were home and dinner (should be) cooking and the television (should be) on. One of them normally (should be) half asleep while the other is putting away the dishes. That’s usually the way things are in this humdrum middle-aged life of theirs; something married people warn all bachelors about but nobody wants to believe, how excitement drips, drips, leaks out until there’s nothing left but a pool of mundane monotony at the center of the relationship. There are benefits to this kind of living. It’s predictable, comfortable, less taxing on the joints. And they have gotten into this pattern, and after first feeling extremely inadequate over their sex life somehow transforming from five times per week to three times per month, they’ve settled into the reality, at least for now. 

Scully was performing another household duty that needed to be done, or so she thought--there’d been a mouse in the house, and she’d seen it scampering into their dusty downstairs hall closet, and when she discussed it with Mulder he lackadaisically said “Let’s get a cat” like she’s not allergic to cats, and how does he not know this? So she was on the wooden floor, pulling out shoes and fallen hangers and dust bunnies, trying to find this mouse nest.

Sniffling from dust, she had pulled out a boxful of old things in that closet of filth, found a load of files and within a black leather satchel, an old pair of handcuffs with key that she cannot tell who owned back in the glory days. She couldn’t even recall the last time she’d touched them, something that used to be as typical an accessory as a pair of earrings or three-inch heeled pumps. These were the things that lived on them for ages and almost became a part of their person until suddenly, no longer needed, they got stuffed into this box and that box and shoved into a corner.

These things held memories--some good, some bad--and though a lot of her thoughts surrounding the cuffs went to the many sleazeballs who she truly enjoyed locking up in them, especially that one sleazeball, but then one memory was struck in her brain like the world’s tiniest gong. Remember, that one time…

She had teased him and teased him, once they were together, about how she had pulled one over on old Morris Fletcher by faux-seducing him with her handcuffs. Every time she told the story, he reacted with surprise, his eyebrows waggling with intrigue as he said, “Oh my, Scully.” “I never knew you were a control freak, Scully.” “Have I been a bad widdle criminal, Scully?” 

That, that one got a response from her, and soon he was cuffed to her bed, naked, and she was on her knees, over him, asking him what punishments this bad widdle criminal deserved.

That night, and the many nights and days peppered throughout their time together when these, and other, implements of pleasure/torture were used… the recollection of them made her flush deep red from cheeks to chest as she sat on that hard floor at seven o’clock at night, with dinner in the oven and Mulder snoozing on the sunken-in couch.

She stood up and walked over to him, swinging the cuffs on her finger as a hearty snore erupted from her partner-of-twenty-years’ mouth. Her boldness grew, years metaphorically shedding off her aged existence in her approach until she felt like that woman with the fiery red hair, that night they were both criminals.

She heard an owl out in the timber beyond their house, hooting its hollow, deep call, and she gently leaned over the back of the couch and pressed the cold metal of a cuff against Mulder’s pouty lips. His eyes snapped open, his body starting awake. 

“Sssshh.” She kept the metal pressed against his mouth and he looked confused, at her, down the bridge of his nose. The transformation of his expression was priceless--like a mopey child who had just been given $20 in the candy store. Free to spend, any way you’d like.

“What do you think?” she said, her hair hanging down around his face. Silenced by the cuff upon his mouth, he merely nodded, eyes alight. She observed his body--thick torso in his grey thermal, flannel pajama pants loose but starting to bulge at the crotch.

“You’re in charge,” he said against the metal.

xxx

The spare light of the bedroom lamp makes his body looks shadowy, golden, defined. He’s on his knees at the side of the bed, bare chested, looking down until she grabs the top of his hair and pulls his head back, so he can look into her eyes when she says it.

“You want it again?”

Mulder’s tongue flicks out against his lips. His mouth is wet, his cheeks damp. “Yes.”

His eyes display an uncharacteristically youthful desperation, beg for a taste of her bare pussy in front of him. She hasn’t felt this amount of power over him, over anything, in a very long time. Her legs are over his shoulders but she needs to scoot a few inches closer for his tongue to be within reach. She smooths her heels down the goosebumps on his back and can’t quite touch the chained metal cuffs binding his wrists together above his ass. But she knows they’re there because she put them there herself, and the thought causes a surge of wet heat from her inside out, a tiny tremor of pleasure. 

She leans back and presses his face against her body and gasps as he vindictively focuses on her clit, dragging his tongue over it in quick succession, nestling even deeper into her folds to suck it between his lips like he teases the peaks of her nipples. God, it’s been too long. Tiny, almost imperceptible sucks, a nibble, a swirl of the tongue. She sags back on one hand, her hips riding his face and her silk camisole inching up her waist. She counts the seconds, knowing when he’ll need his breath. Eight… nine… ten…

“Come on,” she breathes. He grunts, his eyes squeezed shut, and his nose slides over her clit as his tongue darts deep inside her. Sixteen… seventeen… 

She gives him a firm enough kick to his mid-back and yanks his head back away from her.

“Did you forget how to eat pussy, Mulder?” she whispers. 

“No,” he says, eyes opening and presenting the dark swirl of challenge she just incited inside him. 

“You know, I could show you how to do it right,” she says, running her thumb across his wet, full upper lip. “I could teach you a few things.”

“Hmm.” It’s the only noise he makes, his eyes darting from her gaze back down to her body on display. This isn’t news to him--it’s no revelation she’s been with women--but maybe it’s news to him that she considers herself good at fucking them.

“We would just need to find someone.” She presses his face against her again and he responds with enthusiasm, this time using his teeth on her outer labia and grazing, pulling, then lapping at the tingling flesh he leaves behind. “Oh, God, Mulder, that feels so nice. The kind of nice that hurts.”

He laughs against her and she pulls his hair taut. “Would you be able to watch me?” she asks.

“With another wom--” he tries to speak but she muffles him with a lift of her hips. 

“You couldn’t get jealous. Not too jealous.” She makes sure she’s spreading her wetness across his face, her ass circling at the very edge of the bed. She feels him thrusting against the side of the mattress. The poor guy. “You know what I’ve always wanted?”

When he doesn’t respond she realizes she hasn’t been counting the seconds and she pulls him away. He takes a deep, sharp breath. “What have you always wanted,” he echoes, his voice deep.

“You…” She touches his glistening nose. “...to fuck me from behind…” Her finger turns to dip inside her body, drag out some wetness. She slides the finger into his mouth and he sucks it voraciously. 

“...while I go down on a woman.”

He groans around her finger, tongue twirling. His hips are moving harder against the bed and she smiles. If he wants to come on his belly there’s no reason to stop him.

“You are such a good little boy sometimes,” she coos, withdrawing her finger from his mouth. 

“Let me fuck you,” he breathes.

“Oh, now who’s giving the orders?” She palms herself in front of him, grinding until her clit sparks and sparks.

“Let me fuck you.”

“You can’t fuck me with those…” She leans over, nodding to the cuffs. “...on.” 

“Take them off me, then.”

“Mulder, I just called you ‘good,’ and now you’re being so belligerent.”

“I’m done being good.”

She feels that deep inside her, a jolt of arousal. “Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Put my dick in your pussy.”

She laughs. “Oh, really.”

He bucks against the bed. His knees must be aching; a thin rug is the only thing between him and the rustic hardwood floor.

“Maybe I don’t want it.” She teases herself more and can hear how wet she is.

“Oh, you want it.” He’s speaking through gritted teeth now. He juts his chin toward her body. “I can see how much you want it.”

“Well, I can’t argue against the physical evidence in this case.” She slides a finger inside of her, then two, while he watches her hypnotic movements inches from his mouth. Leisurely in and out. “I think I’m ready.”

“Fuck, Scully.”

“Hmmm?”

“Come the fuck on, I’m so hard I can’t take it.”

She reaches back upon the duvet and grabs the handcuff key. “Turn around.”

He does a sad and unsteady shuffle around on his knees to turn his back to her. She runs her hands down the tensing muscles, tugs at the cuffs and unlocks them with her tiny key, ignoring the anticipatory shaking of her hand. One hand is free, then the other. She tosses the key to the side of the bed and sits back, watching him stand up and stretch his arms over his head. 

“Sorry if you’re sore,” she says, playing with one of her nipples through her camisole. A thin strap theatrically slides off her shoulder as he turns around to see her. 

He’s reading what she wants, intent on unleashing the pent-up sexual frustration that she’s been stoking for the past half an hour of pussy-teasing, leaving his cock completely untouched.

Until now.

He lunges at her and she tries to wiggle away but he has her by her hips, her feet slipping against the duvet. With a strength he doesn’t often reveal but is buried underneath his middle-aged body, he flips her over with her head to the headboard, onto her belly. He yanks her camisole up over her head, tossing it to the ground and she’s panting, expectation swirling. 

She loses her breath when he sets her hips up, getting her to all fours as quickly as he sets himself behind her. His hand sloppily finds her wet, fingers entering her as she begins to moan, soaking his hand.

“You’re sorry if I’m sore.” His fingers hook and swirl inside of her and she’s throbbing, waiting. His fingers move away and she feels him shifting--sliding his boxer briefs down his thighs, and then, hot, his cock against her lower back as he hovers over her body. She suddenly feels small, prone.

“Yeah?” It’s all she can manage.

“Scully, I’m not convinced you don’t want this.” He pulls away and she feels the head of his cock against her opening. “Didn’t look like it. Doesn’t feel like it.”

“I suppose you deserve a little something,” she breathes.

His fingers encircle her left wrist and he pulls her arm backward and bent, behind her back. She hears the metal behind her and how could she have been so stupid, she thinks as she feels the cuff quickly clasp around her wrist. “I can’t believe you.”

He tugs at her right wrist and she has to drop down on her cheek as she loses its support. Soon she’s bound, both wrists at the small of her back, and she can feel his dick waiting, tantalizingly close to entering her. He rubs her hips, his large warm hands spreading her out so he can look at her and make her blush.

Mulder slips into her gracefully, like he’s not harboring a full foreplay session of being poked fun at, treated like a little toy, which as dirty as it feels she knows that he loves. She exhales as he fills her, slippery and full, her cheek against the cool duvet. He’s holding the links of the cuffs behind her back, keeping her in place, using it to steady him as he draws out and moves in again, eerily silent.

“How is it?” she asks, like he’s dipping a toe in a pool.

“Sweet.” He thrusts into her hard enough to make her gasp. “It’s a sweet. Little... “ Another thrust makes her cry out softly. “...tight. Pussy.”

“Mhmm.” Scully tenses her muscles around him.

“I almost feel guilty…” he continues, leisurely dipping in and out of her body. “... I almost feel ashamed for what I’m about to do to it.”

She whimpers now, feeling close to orgasm already. His hips sway back and then he enters her quickly, fully, his balls to her body. He begins pumping and all she can do is close her eyes and let all her sensations trickle out of her mouth in moans and gasps and harder cries as he grinds so deep he hits her cervix, then backs off. Just a threat, a little threat that brings tears to her eyes.

“What do you want?” he asks.

“Take it,” she says.

“Take what?” He yanks her arms back, just enough to make her hiss.

“Me.”

“What?”

“My tight little pussy, take it.”

“Oh yeah. Yeah, I will.” And he does now, his rhythmic drilling vibrating her hips with pleasure. “I’ll take it. For locking me up.”

“Yes,” she says on a breath.

“For treating a grown man like your little toy.”

She can only respond in moans now. “You’re so wet and dirty for this, Scully. Fuck. I bet you want to come all over me.”

Another moan. Her cheek is sticky against the bed, her hair sticky against her face as he jolts her back and forth and her tightened thighs strain to keep her body up on her knees.

“Should I touch your clit?”

An immediate, verbal response… “Yes.”

His hand moves closer to it. “Should I?”

“Fucking… yes. Please.” Gritted teeth on her part, now, and nearly a sob of relief when the pads of his fingers find her ache. He’s not gentle about it, nor does she want him to be. She needs it manhandled in the way only his fingers can--grinding, flicking, teasing her soft flesh. She’s twitching around him instantly and he feels it, moans her name on a breath, works her clit harder.

“Who’s the toy now, Scully?”

She’s coming, so close. “Me.” Panting. Nearly falling over upon the bed.

“Who’s my little toy?”

The way she takes God’s name in vain, handcuffed, being railed by her partner-turned boyfriend-turned common-law whatever the fuck label he now had, was absolutely sinful and she turned cherry red, the echoes of her cries deafening in their sparsely decorated bedroom. It’s the middle of the country, not an D.C. apartment, she woozily contemplates after her yelping subsides. Not a person can hear.

He had slowed down while she came and now, with her twitching body not ready to go calm just yet, he hummed contentedly and fucked her relentlessly. She felt another orgasm building and this one, a different sensation--inside, not outside--and she nearly cries when she feels the hard clench of muscles and then wetness seemingly pouring all over him, out of her, everywhere. He came somewhere in there--she isn’t sure when--it’s hard to tell, to be honest, with the mess that is causing a sticky-slap sound between their sweat-sheened bodies.

“I think you squirted,” he says, his grip on her handcuffs loosening.

“That hasn’t happened for a while.” She plummets to the bed, dropping her full weight against it with relief.

“No.” She feels him shifting her thighs apart and smiles, shifting her knee so that Mulder can lean down to lick her clean. He slides his hands under the front of her hips and draws out the process, enjoying every wet inch as she shivers to his touch. “It’s good.”

“Oh my god,” she says, “Get over here.”

He plops down beside her with the happiest expression she’s seen in weeks.

“I’m here.”

She twines her fingers with his. “We are.”

He leans in and kisses her forehead. He leaves his lips there. “Love you.”

“You too, you bad widdle criminal.”


End file.
